Broken wings
by ClemB
Summary: 'She was a bird with a broken wing, yearning to fly again.'


A/N : this has to be the longest one-shot I have ever done. I didn't plan on posting it when I wrote it, but some very nice people told me I should, so here it goes. Thanks a lot to Lyn for the push forward, and to Leelee for being such an incredible beta.

Please tell me what you think, it's what keeps me going.

Disclaimer : no copyright infringement intended.

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><p>Peter rolled on the king sized bed, his arm stretching toward his partner, only to brush against cool sheets. He cracked his eyes open and frowned, his sight confirming the absence of Olivia. Glancing to the clock on the bedside table, he let his head fall back on the pillow, sighing. It was almost two o'clock in the morning and, obviously, Olivia had left their bed quite some time ago. Laying on his back, he listened intently ; the still of the night was barely disturbed by the scarce cars passing on the street, and the low hum of the refrigerator.<p>

Running his hands through his dark chestnut hair, he pondered what to do. Olivia's chronic inability to sleep through the night was not foreign to him ; he had often been roused from his sleep by her tossing and turning, or the sounds of her fingers hitting the computer keyboard as she was working late at night. Their last case had been relatively quick to solve, giving them a few days to unwind - until another case were thrown at them by the FBI - so he was not worried about her working day and night to catch yet another criminal.

They had been dating for several weeks, smoothly transitioning from friends to lovers. Olivia was an eager partner at work, and she had not been less enthusiastic in their relationship. He had been somehow taken aback in the beginning, but had quickly became addicted to her smiles and sweet gestures ; she was as happy to show the world they were together as he was proud to hold her hand in public. They had come through so many obstacles, he could not blame her. Sometimes, however, he was wondering if the impending doom of the universe was perhaps pushing her to truly enjoy life while it lasted.

Turning on his side, trying to get back to sleep, he observed the dent her head had left on her pillow ; ten minutes later, he was still wide awake. Knowing he would not be able to finish the night without Olivia by his side, he snagged his underwear from the floorboard and quested through the apartment, with the firm intent on dragging her back to bed. He tip-toed through the flat, using the street lights filtering through the curtains to find his way, unwilling to scare her if she was actually asleep somewhere.

Reaching the lounge, he could barely distinguish anything, the space barely illuminated by a small lamp at a far corner of the room. The sitting form on the couch was however unmistakable. Olivia had settled against one of the armrest, nestling a cup of tea, her knees drew back under herself. He approached her from behind, mutely peaking above her shoulder ; she was reading a book, which was carefully balanced on her knees and, from the number of pages already turned, he could tell she had been up for longer than he thought she had.

Peter took his time to admire her ; she was wearing her slim red robe, the one she said felt like silk against her skin, and a pair of black, rectangular glasses. The soft glow from the light painted shadows against her face, accentuating her cheekbones. Her plump lips were slightly open, her forehead creased as she was concentrating on the words dancing on the page. He could never grow tired of watching her, whether in secret, while she was unaware of it, or out in the open, publicly making her blush.

"Can't sleep ?" he asked, taking the last few steps toward her. She startled, her right hand reaching for her chest, trying to calm her pounding heart. She had been so engrossed in her book, she had not heard Peter had joined her. "You surprised me." He smiled sheepishly, apologizing. "Sorry." She sighed and reached for the coffee table in front of her to place her empty mug on it, keeping the book on her knees. "What's up ?" he nudged her forward and sat behind her, his chest replacing the support of the back of the couch. She allowed him to wrap his arms around her, relishing in the warmth of his body. He guarded the page she had been reading with him thumb and closed the book, reading its cover. '_Effective interviewing and interrogation techniques._' He hummed, shaking his head. "No wonder you can't sleep." He felt her shrug, her fingers drawing invisible patterns on his forearm. "Might as well make the night useful." He placed the open book upside-down on the coffee table in front of them before pushing her lose hair out of her neck, placing a soft kiss below her ear. "I can think of a few other things we could do..." He trailed off, his lips and tongue showing her exactly what he had in mind. Moaning, she twisted her neck to the side, her eyes closing from the overwhelming sensations he was eliciting.

Suddenly, she felt him freeze behind her, his fingers caressing her nape. "What's this ?" his voice held surprise and confusion ; it took her a few seconds to understand what was the source of his bewilderment. "I thought you told me you didn't have any tattoos ?" He softly pushed her head forward, trying to have a better look at the drawing ; he never would have guessed Olivia to be a sun-tattoo kind of woman. "I don't. I..." Sighing, she searched her mind for a quick and simple way to explain it. "_She_ does." She felt him stiffen, clearly not happy about the taboo subject. _She_, as in her doppelganger, the woman from the other side, the one who had stolen almost everything from Olivia ; the woman who had taken both their hearts and crushed them under her heel, the ghost of her presence now pouring salt into their open wounds.

"She didn't. I'm fairly certain her neck was-" She cut him off, obviously not wanting to broach the topic. "She probably had it removed when she impersonated me. I don't care how or why and, frankly, I don't want to talk about it." The shift in her mood did not go unnoticed by Peter. He was aware that the months she had been missing were not easily discussable for her, but he knew that, for both their sakes, they would have to talk it over eventually. "Look, I don't want you to get upset over this, but sooner or later you'll have to talk about what happened to you." She shook her head and pushed away from him, trying to get out of his grasp. He let her go reluctantly, his arms feeling the sudden absence of her weight.

"Well, now is not the time, Peter. And we've already talked about it, about _her_. I don't know what's left to say." She was facing him, standing with her arms at her waist, her lose blonde hair framing her face ; he would have called her beautiful if she was not looking daggers at him. "We've barely brushed the topic !" he stood up as well, his hands moving as his voice grew stronger. "I almost had to corner you in the lab office to explain the book, _you_ never try to talk about it, I'm the one who brings it up and you always have some diversionary tactic to avoid any discussion !"

She shook her head, vainly trying to calm down the turmoil inside her heart. She understood his need to know, the compassionate looks he gave her whenever he tried to open her up to talk about it speaking volumes. He wanted to help her deal with whatever had happened over there ; he could feel she was still struggling with it, albeit how effectively she was putting up a front for everyone else. He could see right through her, and that scared her.

"And what good would that do, anyway ? You think that if I keep turning it over and over, the memories will go away ? It doesn't work like that, Peter." He took his head in his hands, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. She kept pushing him away, whenever he tried to talk to her about what had happened ; he knew she hurt, and he knew he was partly responsible for it, but he couldn't bear being kept at bay any longer.

"Talking about something that bothers you is the first advice anybody will give you, Olivia. If you keep it all bottled up, nobody can help you deal with it." His voice was softer, his left hand pushed toward her, his palm up as a peace offering. It was as if he was trying to tame a wild beast, proving her he meant no harm, slowly approaching her. He would be damned if he let her slip through his fingers once again.

"I never asked for your help. I don't need help, I'm fine." She took a step back, her legs touching the coffee table. She felt trapped, caged in her own disconcertment. Her feelings were constricting her chest, making it harder to breathe. She shook her head, trying to persuade herself that she was, indeed, fine ; but she could lie all she wanted, she could not conceal the truth from herself. She was not fine. But she was too proud to admit it ; she had only had herself to depend on since her youngest age, and she would not break that habit in the blink of an eye.

"God, Liv, cut this act !" He felt frustrated ; their argument was going nowhere. "Stop being stop stubborn and self-sufficient for once. Being in a relationship means communicating." He gestured between them both, observing Olivia's reaction. "It means sharing happiness, but it also means being there when things get ugly." He sighed and started pacing, her eyes burrowing holes in the back of his head. "I keep trying, Liv, but I'm getting tired of you always pushing me away." He stopped in front of her, bracing himself.

"I don't push you away." She denied his words. "Aren't you happy the way things are ? I thought y-" He cut her off, putting a hand up. "Of course I am ! We're great together, but this is so superficial, so...frivolous." At his words she titled her head, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "Sometimes I wonder if you don't wallow in self-pity ; sometimes I wonder if you ever want to try to be happy !"

The slapping noise reverberated in his head, her right hand hitting his cheek so hard he saw black dots dancing in front of his eyes. It was not so much the burning sensation shooting through his face that hurt ; it was the tears forming in her eyes, the incredulous expression on her face. He had gotten carried away and had said words he did not mean. But it was too late, they were out in the open, a spear thrown right into her heart.

Shaking her head, she looked into his eyes, searching for the truth ; he swallowed the lump in his throat and let her read him, desperately hoping she would see through him. The soft light emanating from the corner of the room had became a burning fire, her eyes glistening in its reflection ; he was choking up, unable to formulate a word.

She bit her lower lip, her face scrunching ; was this how he saw her - as somebody who basked in sorrow and sadness ? He had described their relationship as trivial ; to her, she had never been as dedicated to someone as she was to him. Perhaps they were not in the same tune, he was obviously asking things from her she was not ready to give him yet - things she might never be able to. Taking a step back from him, she turned around, escaping the constricting atmosphere.

"Olivia -" he whispered her name, scared to brake the fine glassy wall he had just erected between them. Her step wavered, hope rising in his chest at the speed of light, only to be crushed mere seconds later when he heard the bathroom door slam.

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><p>Peter had waited for Olivia to come out of the bathroom for more than an hour, fighting the urge to knock on the door and beg her for forgiveness. He had paced in the living room, the spot she had vacated on the couch glaring at him, the book still open on the coffee table. He had sat next the bathroom door, the cold floor numbing his buttocks ; no sound could be heard from the inside of the room. No shower running, no movement, and no sobbing. He had not wanted to make her cry, but he knew that she probably would, and it killed him. He had finally decided to go back to bed, sitting against the headboard, loathing himself for what he had said, failing to find the right words for an apology. He had eventually fallen asleep, sitting, his vertebrae twisted at an uncomfortable angle that would give him a sore neck in the morning.<p>

Olivia had chosen the easiest, closest room to retreat safely from their argument. The bathroom was the most logical room for an FBI agent ; no other room had a lock on the door, and the water spray could be used to tone down whatever was happening inside. She had not really thought about where she had headed, she just knew she could not be in the same room as Peter after what he had said.

Couples had arguments, it was absolutely normal and sometimes even healthy to have them. However, this was not just a fight about the in-laws or finances. Their first disagreement since they had became lovers was already making them question whether or not they were meant to be together. Letting herself glide along the bathroom wall, she put her hands to her mouth, muffling her cries. Tears strained down her face, wetting the collar of her robe. What had she done to be cursed in every relationship she had ever been in, she pondered. She seemed to be emotionally incapacitated, never settling long enough with someone ; the sole time she had done so, her heart had been broken by the man she loved, her feelings used against her.

She curled into a ball, hiding her face into her knees, slowly rocking herself. She was gasping for air, her lungs aching as she fought against the tears, her face distorted in pain. Had he really mean what he had said - did he really think she wasn't getting involved enough in their romance ? Or was he looking for a way out, blaming it on her faulty capacity to love him ? She turned question after question around her head, trying to figure out the meaning of each sentence, of each word they had said to each other. Maybe Peter was right, maybe she had pushed him away, accustomed as she was to deal with problems by herself. Still, she refused to take all the blame ; she did not feel comfortable discussing her time over there with him, she wished he would understand that.

Olivia eventually fell asleep, more or less passing out from exhaustion, her body sliding toward the bathtub during the night. She woke up on the cold tiled floor, her neck hurting from the awkward position it had been in for hours. She got up and wobbled toward the sink, splashing her face with cold water. She stood in front of the mirror and checked her appearance, arms braced on the cold sink, ; her face looked wrinkled, pale, and red rims outlined her bloodshot eyes. Taking a guess at the time from the morning light piercing through the tiny window, she opted for a shower, the warm water had always held the power to soothe her. Discarding her robe, she turned the tap on, waiting for the temperature to be acceptable before stepping under the spray. Her lose hair fell into her eyes as the force of the water pushed it down, curtaining her face with a golden drape. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall backward, the spray massaging her cheeks, washing her tears away.

As she stood under the hot water, she could not help but think about the previous night. She knew she had acted cowardly, avoiding Peter instead of facing him, trying to resolve their fight. But she could not bring herself to face him, not when she felt her heart had been at once again ripped from her chest and thrown away. She could have moved to the couch, instead of spending the whole night on the bathroom floor ; but she had not wanted to take the risk of opening the door. Washing herself, she replayed the scene one last time in her head, deciding that she would not be the first one to speak ; if Peter had not left her place, she reminded herself.

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><p>Peter awoke to the smell of coffee, birds chirping outside the bedroom window. It took him a few seconds to recall the events from the previous night. Their argument hit him like a train at full speed ; words, feelings and pictures collided behind his eyes, making his head pound. Glancing to his right, his suspicions were confirmed : Olivia had not come back to bed. He scrubbed his chin and he felt his stubble scratch his palm, welcoming the roughness. He got up and put a shirt on before exiting the room and headed straight to the kitchen, the only place where he would find her from the smell permeating through the apartment. Taking a deep breath, he passed the last doorframe, and spotted her instantly.<p>

She was pouring herself a cup of coffee, her hair still damp from the shower she had taken, droplets falling on the shoulders of her shirt. Her head was down, her eyes fixated on the task. Clearing his throat, she did not react to his presence, or feigned her absence of reaction. He wet his lips, taking small steps toward her until he could no longer go forward, the kitchen counter creating a barrier between them. Olivia placed the pot back under the coffee maker and switched it off before grabbing a spoon. Turning around, she dipped a piece of sugar into the black liquid before taking a seat at the round table, her face halfway turned away from him.

Peter observed her, her face back to the perfect mask he had came to know when he had first met her. Her eyes were devoid of any feelings. The same eyes that usually shone with love for him, that conveyed laughter and wittiness, were now blank, expressionless. Her posture was stiff, her shoulders hunched and the back of her neck rigid ; she was a prey at the ready, prepared to bounce and fly away from its hunter at the first sign of trouble.

Sighing, he rounded the piece of furniture and came to stand in front of her, the table between them. Slowly, he pushed the chair away from it and sat down, his eyes never leaving her. "Hey." He greeted her softly, studying her ; he was good at reading people, but she was even better at putting a poker face on. She glanced up at him, her eyes her only animated feature. "Hi." It was barely a whisper. Her voice felt thick, her throat sore from the previous night. Mere seconds later, his eyes missed staring into hers, longing for the pools of green that inspired him daily. "Olivia, I..." He trailed off, shaking his head. How was he supposed to apologize, when he could not pardon himself for what he had said to her ? Her stillness was not helping him find the right words, but he reckoned he deserved the silent treatment she was giving him.

Peter swallowed hard, raking his mind, desperately searching for the best apology he could muster ; nothing sounded good enough but to lay the truth on the table, plain and simple. The ball would then be in her court.

"You know I didn't mean it, right ?" He saw her flinch, her eyes looking deep into the cup of coffee she was nestling in her hands. The deafening silence enveloping them was an excruciatingly tight vise around his heart, squishing his patience until none was left. But he sat there, immobile, his eyes traveling from her head to her hands, and back upwards to her face. She was staring into the black liquid as if it was her lifeline, keeping her from drowning into misery.

"Is it how you see me ?" He leaned closer, not certain he had heard her speak, or if he had imagined it. "As a depressed person, someone so gloomy she isn't capable of feeling an ounce of happiness anymore ?" Her voice held so much despair, as if she had accepted her spoken words as the truth ; but he would not let her give hope up, they would work it out.

"Of course not !" He shifted his hand toward her, imperceptibly reaching out his fingers. "Olivia..." He begged her to look at him, hopelessly trying to find strength in her serene force. "What I see when I look at you..." he paused as her attention spiked, her eyes now fixed to a knot on the wooden table. "You're always so strong, so independent. I know you don't need anyone, but please, let me in. You don't have to be alone anymore, you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders." He boldly placed his hands around hers, both of them holding the cooling cup of coffee. When she did not push him away, courage grew on him, urging him on. "I admire you for it, but you're not invincible ; sooner or later, everything's going to come back on your head like a breaking wave." Her eyes finally moved toward his, looking for a confirmation that he was not playing with her. "And I want to be there for you when that happens."

Olivia let out a shaky breath, not knowing how to respond. She knew Peter had always tried to protect her, to shelter her from danger and heartaches. Deep down, she was aware that he was her lifeline in the midst of the storm raging through their lives. She had let her guard down, perhaps for the first time in her life, baring her heart and soul to him and revealing her most inward fears. And he had held her hand through it, not judging her, accepting her for who she was ; a bird with a broken wing, yearning to fly again.

"I'm not good a this, you know." When the trademarked crease formed on his forehead, she explained herself some more. "You and me..." She felt his thumbs caressing the back of her hands, soothing her. "My past relationships weren't exactly a walk in the woods. I don't know how to handle this, this...normality." She closed her eyes, sighing. How could she explain what herself did not even understand. She could blame her inadequacy to be carefree on her childhood, on her abusive step-father or on the trials she had been subjected to. But none of it was insuperable.

A soft smile played on Peter's lips. She was opening up to him, she might not have been aware of it at that instant, but she was taking small steps toward him. If he wanted them to work out, he had to do the same, or he would lose her forever. "I'm not good at it, either." Olivia's head snapped upward, confusion written in her eyes. "I was never at one place long enough to build anything serious, and given my...activities, the less strings, the better." He clenched his jaws as he spoke, clearly not at ease about his past. Olivia was FBI, if one person could understand what he was talking about, it was her. Still, he wasn't proud of his past, especially in front of his lover. "I never committed to anyone, not until you brought me back." She stared at him warily, hearing the meaning under his words.

She was his first commitment, the first person he had let his life be guided by. He had let her take charge, albeit reluctantly at first, as she had blackmailed him in Iraq into coming back with her to Boston. But he had stayed once he had done what she had wanted him for ; and then he had came back for her, _to_ her, from another universe. He had been betrayed by the man he thought was his father, and he had been lied to by herself, his whole world revealed to be false. Even though, he had came back when she had all but implored him to ; because they belonged together, she could not deny it.

"So, where does this leave us ?" A smile broke in his face, relief illuminating his face. "I guess, we'll take it one step at a time." He answered, the grip on her hands increasing. He could tell she was unsure of what he was implying, her eyes searching his for answers. "You don't have to talk to _me_ about it, I just want you to talk to _someone_." Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat, gathering the courage to fully commit to him, as he had committed to her. She was standing on a cliff, ready to jump into the unknown, life pushing her forward. Peter would be her rope, the savior cushioning her fall.

"No, I..." she bit her lower lip, taking the plunge into the ocean. "Is it okay ? To talk about _her_, about the Secretary ?" He could not believe his ears ; she was trying to protect him, reversing their roles. Sighing, he rose from his seat, moving to stand next to her, his hands on her shoulders. "Olivia, I think we both need to talk about it - about them. It won't be easy, but we can do it. I..." He stammered, his stomach turning into a knot, chills running through his body. "I love you." He felt her stiffen under his touch, her head bowing. "And I want this to work, us." He kept talking, his tone calm and serene, while his insides had turned into mush, desperately hoping he had not gone too far. "I can't promise it won't hurt, but it will certainly make it less painful in the long run ; resentment and sorrow are leading us nowhere."

Peter held his breath, expecting her to bolt, to tell him she was not ready to go that far with him. Much to his surprise, she stood up from her chair, pushing her mug further on the table ; but she did not walk away, nor did she look at him sorrily. She tentatively wrapped her arms around his waist and pushed herself close to him, their faces inches apart. Her eyes pierced through his with uncertainty, precariously gauging the truth behind his words as Peter laid his hand on her hips and pushed a leg between hers, lessening the distance that separated them.

Olivia's expression went from scepticism to acceptance, from hesitation to contentedness, a myriad of emotions playing on her face as she studied him. Slowly, a smile formed at the corners of her lips, her eyes shining as moisture gathered above her eyelids. "You really mean it." She whispered against his lips, her warm breath insufflating life back into him. Before he had the time to speak, she leaned into him, pressing her lips against his. He did not kiss her back at first, frozen on this spot, dumbfounded by her reaction. But the insistence of her mouth against him, the touch of her velvety tongue against his lips woke him from his stupor. Soon, they were both pouring their feelings into a kiss, conveying what words could not, reassuring each other.

They pulled back breathing deeply, their faces colored in a pink hue. Bringing his hands to the sides of her face, he wiped the tears away from her cheeks, relieved when he felt her smile against his palms. "Of course, I mean it." He looked at her amusedly, shaking his head. She laughed through her tears and placed her hands atop of his, both framing her face. Peter leaned in and brushed his lips with hers, inviting her into a languorous kiss. "So we're good ?" he asked a few minutes later, his forehead against her. She glided her right hand along his arm, intertwining their fingers, never letting go of him. "I guess so." She looked down at their hands, her thumb tracing his fingernails. "Peter..." she plunged her eyes in his, trying to find the braveness she needed to reciprocate his words. He sensed what she was gathering up her courage for, and he shook his head, smiling. "You don't have to say anything. It's okay." She shook her head and straightened her posture, using her left hand on his shoulder as an anchor. "No, I..."she took a deep breath, taking the final jump, embracing their relationship fully. "I love you, too. And I need you."

Peter let out a breath he did not know he was holding and beamed at her, his cheeks ready to burst with the grin illuminating his face. He pulled her into a fierce hug and her arms instinctively wrapped around him as she burrowed her face in this neck, relishing in his scent. She closed her eyes and let Peter hold them both, gently rocking them, his stubble grazing the top of her head. Tension left their bodies and their minds were finally back at peace, their hearts back in tune. Mutedly, he took her hand in his, leading her to slowly to the bedroom. The early morning basked the room in a yellow light, creating a serene, soothing atmosphere.

As they laid in each other arms a few hours later, their body tangled underneath the covers, they sighed happily, blissfully savouring the moment. Looking back to when they had first met, Peter could not have imagined how far they would go for each other. But there they were, lying in each other's arms, two soulmates rejoicing to finally be reunited. And as Olivia began to talk to him in hushed tone about her time over there, he held her tighter against his naked chest, knowing there was no place he would rather be than in her arms.


End file.
